Her mind never quiets,
Her mouth hardly moves.
Her hiding place is too worn,
With nothing left for cover.
Her tongue has a bitter snap,
Harsh truths replace kind lies.
Her breath is labored,
Each intake a quest.
Her authenticity is crushing,
A weight too great to bear.
Her careful calculations,
Produce wrong conclusions.
Her memory is distant,
Yet set purpose remains.
Her presence within me,
Ignites the path forward.
Mindfully Messy 
This is so compelling. And how interesting that you only refer to her in the possessive form, never as the subject (“her” but never “she”). Is this possessor you describe…is it your Bipolar side? If so, then know that you can overcome her. I’ve seen your growth. YOURS.
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